


Alive

by NightfuryNova



Series: Wammy's Sons [1]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Mild Language, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Whump, i wrote it to be both so go ahead and see it however you want, or it can be shipped too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightfuryNova/pseuds/NightfuryNova
Summary: A sudden call in the middle of the night delves an old friend head-first into the front lines of the chase after the most prolific mass-murderer in history: Kira. He just has to buy more bandages first.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Series: Wammy's Sons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042779
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1427

Leaning against the side of the car, he fidgeted with his lighter and looked back up at that building. Still nothing. Straining his ears to hear for someone coming, searching for a figure in the darkness. No one. He sighed and looked down at his boots. All he could hear was the faint rumble of the still-running engine, the clicks of the lighter, his own breath and an occasional late-fall breeze, providing quiet, eerie whistles between alleyways.

“ _He’ll be fine,_ ” He thought to himself, trying to convince his heart to just calm down already, “ _The guy knows what he’s doing. He has the whole thing planned. He always has everything planned._ ”

He bit his lip and stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve his phone, wishing he brought a pack with him. Man, could he use some puffs right now. Taking a last glance at that building only a few hundred yards away before looking down and flipping open his phone to check the time, hoping beyond anything else that it wouldn’t have to come to that. But who knows what the guy would do? He’s just… _determined_.

* * *

“Park near the building, but not too close that any shrapnel will come flying at you!” Mello’s voice was rigid, commanding. And frantic. It was a sudden call just after midnight, but it’s not like Matt was sleeping anyway. He got carried away trying to complete another game’s campaign and time slipped away from him again.

His phone was pressed between his ear and shoulder when he answered, both hands occupied by the controller, all attention still focused on the screen. He was barely able to say “hello” before the guy started shouting at him through the transmission. Matt’s brows furrowed at what he said, pausing his game then properly held the phone. “Wait, shrapnel?”

“Just DO it!” There was a faint explosion in the background, followed by a series of shouts and, wait was that gunshot?

“Hold on, what’s happening man?”

“On second thought don’t park, keep the engine running. I’ll need an immediate getaway.” His voice was quieter now, but it didn’t sound any calmer.

“From what–?”

Mello hung up.

It took half a second to process and absorb the information he was just given. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Besides, anyone who’s met the guy will know that it’s cussing near _impossible_ to get Mello on edge like that.

Matt stood. Hurrying across the room, he grabbed the keys that were stationed on the table that also held his Xbox. He didn’t have time to put in his contacts so he could wear his usual amber-tinted goggles, so he ran out the door with just his ordinary glasses, forgetting to lock the apartment door behind him until he was already in the vehicle.

When he got there, smoke was rising from the hideout and he stepped out of the car to get a better view. What _happened?_ Did one of the thugs get drunk and drop a cigar in the wrong place and triggered one of the bombs or something? 

No that wouldn’t be it. A stupid mistake like that wouldn’t require the guy to make a getaway of all things. He knew Mello made sure that explosives were methodically placed all throughout the building, quote on quote, “just in case”, but he had no idea what in the _world_ would make blowing it up necessary. Yet Mello just plans for those kinds of things anyway…

He tried not to think about it, not to let his imagination run rampant to whatever it was that could be happening right now; what decisions were being made, what thoughts were running through the guy’s head, what he was willing to do. But if there was anything Matt – or anyone else – was raised to do while at Wammy’s House, it was to think.

It felt like at least fifteen but, taking a last glance at that building, biting his lip and reaching into his pocket for the phone to look at the time, it had only been two minutes since he arrived. Eight minutes since he received the call. Not nearly enough time to decide that it was a false alarm. But still if nothing’s happened yet then–

**_BOOM_ **

Fire erupted from the distance entirely encompassing _that_ building, a deafening **_CRACK_ ** ripping through the air. Matt jumped, dropping his lighter, staring in horrified awe. Despite not wearing his goggles, everything in his vision was painted orange and yellow. The shrapnel the guy was talking about rocketed in every direction, while black smoke plumed upward, shielding the sky from the carnage.

It took half a second to process what just happened.

He ran. Mello was in there somewhere.

Matt didn’t get far before it clicked that he’d be faster in the car, so he turned back and jumped in, slamming the gas pedal to the floor before the door even closed. He drove as close as he dared to the burning structure before coming to a screeching halt and jumped out again, nearly tripping face-first into the charred grass in his rush.

He wanted to shout for him, but something told him Mello would probably tell him to shut up. Something along the lines that they’d be found or given away. Logically it didn’t make sense. The roaring of the flames and undoubtable ringing in their ears would make it impossible for him to be heard– oh.

Running through, trying not to burn himself, he searched. Someone a little taller than himself, thin, pale skin, dark clothes–

Screaming.

He heard screaming.

Matt spun around, trying to discern which direction it was coming from – which was really hard by the way – before finally narrowing down on a crumpled figure in the distance, easily mistaken for rubble.

Beside the fact that it was writhing in agony.

Matt didn’t know he could run that fast. Adrenaline flooding his veins, sliding the last few feet on his knees, reaching forward to pull the guy out from underneath some of the surrounding debris, bringing him closer aND HE’S ON _FIRE!_ Mello’s eyes were open, wide with excruciating torment and horror. His muscles jerked and twisted beneath his skin. His jaw stretched open to its fullest extent, emitting those blood-curdling screams of sheer, undeniable _agony_.

Without wasting a moment, Matt ripped and tore off Mello’s burning vest and attempted to extinguish the embers still encompassing the left side of his body. He quickly hoisted him over his shoulder, carrying him back to the car, laying him in the back seat. He never stopped screaming, barely pausing to hack in a breath just enough to scream again.

Ignoring all laws, Matt raced back to the empty apartment building. Getting there in half the time it took to arrive at the scene in the first place, once again coming to a screeching halt. He removed the keys, kicked the door open, shoved the keys in his pocket – scratching his hand as he did – and forced the back door open. Mello was still screaming, but it wasn’t quite as agonized as before. Until Matt had to move him again.

Carrying him up the stairs with more energy than he had probably ever embellished before in his entire nineteen years of life, Matt reached the door and was grateful beyond anything else that he forgot to lock it when he left. He rushed him to the bedroom, ignoring that he knocked over and stepped on several of his precious devices. He laid him as carefully as he could onto the mattress then turned around and flipped on the light.

Mello’s eyes seemed to remain forever open, coated in agony and terror. Covered in scratches, bruises, ash, and his own blood; he stared up at nothing.

The skin on almost the entire left side of his face, nearly reaching his other eye, was already stained red with blood and gruesome burns. It stretched down his neck and covered his left shoulder, further extending down to his back and slightly curling around to the front again at his ribs. It looked like the fingers of Hell itself, clawing its way into his skin, permanently tattooing its influence on his body with a disgusting grin.

He gasped in another breath but didn’t scream this time. He just laid there breathing heavily like he ran a marathon, though his gloved hands were grasping and scraping at the sheets, unable to hold still.

Matt put on and disinfected his gloves. Then got to work.

Mello screamed.


	2. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 541

“It’s all over Mello! Put your hands up and surrender!” The officer spoke in Japanese. They all did, knowing he could understand them.

The detonator still in his hand, the deputy director’s mask on his face. The dull light from the empty static on the monitors shone in front of him while the lights on two of the officers’ guns provided his own personal spotlight from behind. All guns, all eyes on him. His heart pounded.

Time slowed as he took one last look at the man desperately clutching the otherworldly weapon, bleeding from the gunshot wounds fired into him just seconds before. He knew where to go. The door was open and that would be problematic, but he could still get away... Should he do it? No. Don’t question it. What other choice does he have anyway? He just hoped Matt heeded his call. His heart pounded. “ _ Oh, please be there. _ ”

Turning to glance back at the men ready to shoot, he lifted the detonator, held his breath. And pressed the button. He couldn’t see past their tinted visors to behold the looks on their faces, but their gasps said enough.

**_BOOM_ **

Mello ran, bolting out of the room’s emergency exit as soon as he saw the first light begin to rise from oblivion and engulf the room. His ears ringing from the deafening series of  **_CRACKS_ ** that ripped through the air, he kept running. Continuing his course towards where Matt would most likely be waiting, having come from the direction of the near-empty apartment complex he ordered him to stay in.

He didn’t hear the explosion detonating directly to his left. Fire surrounded him, pushing him off-balance, even lifting him off his feet. He tumbled and hit the ground in a crazed roll, knocking the mask off and pushing him under a broken piece of what used to be a wall. He struggled to get himself free, only to witness his vest catch fire.

Something inside him snapped. “ _ I’m going to die. _ ”

Fire. Fire everywhere. Hot. Everything is burning. Ears ringing. Excruciating pain. Agony. Muscles jerked, twitched, and writhed. Jaw stretched open, vocal cords straining, but no sound came out. Nothing but that terrible ringing. Red. Eyes open or closed, it was just red.

Hours must surely have passed before his chest was suddenly torn free of the vest and left to the mercy of the scorching air around him. He breathed in and his lungs and throat were met with the same fate. His feet left the ground again, remaining airborne for an extended time before he was dropped back to the cold ground. Searing pain shot through him, originating from his left shoulder and upper back.

Everything around him was cold. He himself was still on fire, but the air, the ground was cold. Very cold. Mello tried to open his eyes but all he could see was red. Just red. He tried to hear something, anything. Ringing. Just ringing. How long has he been like this? How long will he stay like this? When will it end? When will he die? Will he  _ ever _ die? Where is the notebook? Where are the police? Are they coming for him?

Where is Matt?

Is he coming for him...?


	3. Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2401

The guy was unconscious, has been for a while. Thank goodness.

Sunlight streaked the horizon with the lighter hues of early morning and Matt was still awake. He pulled a chair in from the kitchen and sat by the bed, mattress still soaked from all the water he had to pour on and wash the guy with, but at least the new sheets were dry. No game, no devices to keep him distracted or pass the time. He just sat and waited; hunched over with his arms resting on his knees. Matt had to admit though, it was nice to not have to endure those screams anymore.

Mello was covered in bandages, completely emptying the abundant supply the guy made sure Matt always kept stocked “just in case”. He just plans for everything. Sometimes he almost wondered if the guy could see into the future or something.

At the end of it all, he mostly just came out with scratches and bruises, nothing that wouldn’t heal over time. His hair was singed but overall wasn’t terribly damaged, it still looked the same at least, if not a little roughed up. Mello was entirely intact. No broken bones, no missing parts, he had a strong pulse, he was steadily breathing. He was alive.

But not even the grandest of miracles could ever take away those burns.

The left side of his face and neck, curling over the shoulder and down to the middle of his back. Stretching just past his spine but twisting around to the front of his left, caressing his ribs. All of it, forever melted red. His arm was bizarrely untouched by the living evidence of Hell permanently stained to most of the rest of his left upper body, but that was all that could be said for the guy.

Despite how his eyes were always shot open until he finally passed out, his eyelid was covered in those burns along with all the skin surrounding it, clear up to his hairline – that has now receded about half an inch – even enveloping his ear. It was impossible to tell if the guy would be blind or deaf after this. Not until he wakes up. So Matt waited.

Mello choked and rolled his eyes back, falling unconscious just under an hour after he dragged him to the bed, and Matt was still busy treating the wounds clear until five in the morning, then cleaning the blood off everything else for another hour or so after that. He was tempted to check the time, to see how long it’s been since then, but refrained. What would be the point?

He waited. Early morning sunlight shone through the cracks in the blinds and Matt looked back up from his boots to stare at Mello again. He rolled him onto his side when he was finished treating him, just another thing to help not disturb the burns. They were already excruciating enough if those screams had anything to say about it.

Matt blinked and it took him a minute to realize that they never reopened. He moaned and rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses to his forehead. He was already running on nothing more than an energy drink or two and less than four hours of sleep, then even less from the night before that. And here he was, having pulled another all-nighter. He was dedicated enough to stay awake though, it wasn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Besides, this was important.

His head shot up, thinking he heard the guy start screaming again, but Mello was still immobile, taking in dry and croaking, but steady, breaths. He sighed. “ _ Guess I’m more shaken up than I thought. _ ” It made sense. Never, in all the time he’s known the guy, has he ever seen him in that much pain. Poor guy had to endure it all without any painkillers too. Thinking about it though, Matt hasn’t seen  _ anyone _ in that kind of pain before, except maybe in movies or video games.

But this was…  _ real _ …

Things are a lot more different when they’re real. You can’t just apply a healing potion or wrap bandages around your arm and expect your health to suddenly be restored a certain number of points. You have to actually think about how to specifically treat something. What to do if the wound does this, what to do if it does that, et cetera, et cetera.

You have to hear those screams. You have to smell that blood. You have to taste the bile as you try not to sick yourself. You have to feel their body under all that distress as you try to heal them. You have to watch them in probably the worst moment of their entire  _ life _ and do nothing more than wish you could just make it stop.

You’re already doing everything you can, but you just want it to stop. Those screams, that blood, that gut-wrenching disgust at just the sight of the wounds. Their agony, their pain…

Is all real.

No acting, no cosmetics or rendering, no script.

It’s real.

Matt’s stomach growled, snapping him out of the dazed trance he slipped himself into. He looked down, almost expecting to physically see that his stomach was empty. Wow, he really was tired. Well, at least he wasn’t freaked out too much to not have an appetite. It has been some twelve-ish hours since the last time he’s eaten anything anyway, it’s about time he fixed that.

Standing up, he took one last look at Mello’s form, exhausted and heavily bandaged, sleeping quietly on the bed. He had to remove all his clothes to check for any other damage – finding none besides some more scratches and bruises – but stayed courteous enough to at least leave the guy’s underwear on. All of it was piled in a corner, torn practically to shreds and/or horrifically burned beyond future use. He’d have to wear an extra pair of clothes that Matt had for himself until they could buy replacements.

Finally convincing himself the guy will be fine, Matt sighed and left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. He did want to be there at his side once Mello woke up, but if he couldn’t, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He helped himself to a bowl of cereal, emptying the carton of milk while he was at it. Eating slowly and with tired eyes, he finished with a soggy spoonful and dumped the dishes in the sink with the rest. Man, he really needed to get to those. And laundry. Everything smelled like the smoke of his cigarettes. Well, not  _ everything _ , most of what was in the bedroom now smelled like a mix of antiseptic, blood and cooked flesh, but the rest definitely needed to be cleaned.

Shuffling back to the living room, he plopped himself on his seat stationed directly in front of the TV. He stared blankly at the screen for a minute or two before the light on his Xbox 360 caught the corner of his eye. Oh yeah, his game was probably still running.

Mentally shrugging to himself, he leaned for the TV remote and activated the screen, having turned off after being idle for so long. Sure enough, the screen started up and he was met with the paused game interface. Thinking back to last night he didn’t think he was in a good enough spot to save and exit, so he grabbed his controller, turned down the volume and hit play.

He finished his level in… well he didn’t know how much time, really. He almost always lost track of it when he turned on a game, and it didn’t help that right now he was hardly able to stay conscious enough to even complete it without dying. Regardless, he reached his goal with barely enough HP to pass, got back to the main menu then shut down the game, being shortly followed by the Xbox and TV.

Setting the controller down beside him, he leaned back and stretched, popping his back several times, then dropping his arms over the back of the chair once he was satisfied. He closed his eyes, feeling like he could actually fall asleep right here. It was comfortable, he was warm enough, it was a long night and he was absolutely exhausted. Oh yeah, he could totally fall asleep here.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. He would need to change the bandages at least once a day and he was all out right now. He also needed to get painkillers, and a  _ lot _ of them. No  _ way _ was he making the guy suffer like that again. Or himself. With nothing but silence around him now, he was starting to hear the screams faintly echo off the walls again…

Matt stood quickly. Too quickly. His vision started to ebb into blackness at the corners, and he leaned over the chair again, unlocking his knees and took a few deep breaths until it subsided. He stood again, carefully this time, and moved over to peek back into the bedroom. Mello was still there, his back facing the doorway.

Entirely unmoving.

A jolt shot through Matt in a sudden panic as he rushed forward, reaching the entrance by the time the guy took in another breath. Matt sighed audibly in exasperated relief, his heart pounding. Heavens above, he needed to calm down.

He stood there, gloved hand clutching the doorframe, the other stuffed into his pocket and idly fiddling with the keys, faced with indecision. Should he leave? He needed to, desperately. There was a lot of stuff he needed to get. But could he leave the guy here? What if something happened while he was gone? The closest supermarket was something of a thirty-minute drive away so just to get there and back would be an hour, not to mention scouring the store for all the supplies he needed would take at least another hour all on its own. He wasn’t even sure all he needed would be in one place, he’d probably have to go to several stores while he was out... He wouldn’t even be back until mid-afternoon…

Matt shook his head. He  _ needed _ to go out. As tired as he was and as much as he wanted to stay, he  _ had _ to resupply and he had to do it now. The longer he stood there fretting over everything he couldn’t control, the more time was wasted.

He moved throughout the simple apartment, making a mental shopping list of everything they needed. The more he did, the more he realized that he’s been neglecting to do normal grocery shopping for a while now too. Yeah, just go ahead add that to the steadily growing list of things he’s been pushing off for the past week or two. Of all the times to forget to do things, it  _ had _ to be now. Great job Matt. What a genius.

Frustrated, his mental list became a physical one on scrap paper. With how much he’s been forgetting everything lately – rolling his eyes at himself – he’s bound to do it again at the store.

Reviewing the list and adding a few more things he missed the first time, Matt remembered a notepad Mello gave him a while back that he kept stored in the nightstand back in the bedroom. It was an account of several underground medical contacts, their phone numbers and where to find them. Again, “just in case”. He shook his head. The guy just plans for everything.

Copying the nearest contacts to the bottom corner of his list, Matt checked himself. Keys, phone, gloves, half-empty pack of cigs, wallet. Wallet had cards, cash, false ID. Good. Doing another check on the list, and another immediately after that, scanning the apartment a second and third time, he sighed. Alright, that’s about as thorough as he’s going to get.

Glancing down at his goggles resting next to his chair, he decided against them. It’s just too much work right now to put in his contacts.

He reached for the door and–

This shirt isn’t supposed to be red.

Matt’s hand shot back like the doorknob was going to bite him. He looked down at himself and – wondering how in the  _ blazes _ he missed it in all the checks he did – he was still covered in Mello’s blood. His stomach lurched and he stumbled back, catching an acidic lump in his throat. He scrambled out of the shirt and threw it violently to the floor; his hands shaking, breaths rapidly speeding with his heart, and horrific images from just a few hours ago flashed through his mind. Screams echoing loudly in a jumbled mess inside his head.

He stood there and for a whole minute wanted nothing more than to light it on  _ fire. _ Just right there, right now, get it out of his sight. But another memory flashed in his mind of when he dropped his lighter at the explosion.

Fire. The explosion–

No. He shook his head, clearing his mind and steadying his hands at his sides. Okay, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Ignore everything right now and close your eyes. It’s okay. Deep breaths.

It’s over now. It’s over. Mello is fine. He’s alive. You’re alive. Both of you, fine. You’re just tired and stressed. Very stressed. But it’s okay. You just need to go shopping today. Dishes and laundry can wait a while longer. Just focus on food and medical supplies for now. Then you can sleep. You’ll be okay.

He’ll be okay.

Matt never fully understood why that always worked, but – after repeating it a second time – it saved his life yet again. He sighed and opened his reluctant eyes. Glancing down at the crumpled, reddened shirt on the floor, catching more red spots on his jeans, he clenched his jaw and swallowed. Okay, maybe it didn’t work perfectly this time, it’d help if he had a cig to go with it but, well… his lighter was still on the ground outside somewhere. Whatever, he’ll just light one in the car.

Changing his clothes and downing a Monster drink to help keep him awake on the road, he finally,  _ finally _ , went outside, just after he spared another glance at Mello.

Still sleeping, still breathing.

Still alive.


	4. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2391

With a groan, he slowly opened his eyes. It was dark and he could barely move. His throat was dry and sore, the rest of everything about him ached too. He took in a sharp breath and widened his eyes, waking himself up more. It was a poor decision. The air forced into his lungs refused to stay and he coughed, unable to stop himself, and it _hurt_.

What happened? The last thing he remembered was… He hit the detonator. Everyone in the Mafia was dead, he was the only survivor. He ran. Then black. No, red first, then black.

Blaze it all, why couldn’t he move? As his body awakened, between painful hacks, his senses told him he was lying on his side, tightly wrapped and restrained.

No…

No. No, NO! This can’t be happening! He– he was caught. They caught him! Undoubtedly, the only reason they left him alive was to question him, give them information. But regardless of what he would tell them – which would be absolutely nothing – he would immediately be killed. Earning himself a death sentence for the crimes he’s committed.

 _No_. Not like this! Not by Kira. This. CAN’T… be… happening…

Hurried footsteps sounded from behind and Mello glared ahead at the nothingness before him, forcing a cough back down his throat and clenching his jaw. It was only a single pair of steps, a single man. But, with a pang to his heart, he knew that like this… he couldn’t take him. He was restrained and the officer would undoubtedly have a weapon, with backup soon to follow if Mello got violent.

Still. Better to be dead now than give them anything. If he wasn’t going to take down Kira himself, there was no way in Hell he’d help _them_ do it.

A light clicked on behind him, illuminating the room in dull orange. With what little was in his view, it didn’t look like a cell. It was too… homey. There was a window ahead of him with closed blinds, and a chair stationed just barely inside his peripheral, and Mello himself was lying on a bed, his restraints covered by a thin, warm sheet. No, that was a blanket.

The man moved into his view, but he couldn’t see his face. He… wasn’t wearing a suit. Just old jeans and a T-shirt. He placed his hand on the bed, cautiously reaching out to him with his other hand then with a startle and small string of curses, he jumped back, tripping on nothing and catching himself on the windowsill, giving Mello a full view of the man.

He stopped himself mid-swear, “You’re awake!”

Mello blinked. Matt?

He wanted to say it aloud but all he got was the M before an attempt on the A was interrupted by another violent coughing fit. Matt started forward, cursing to himself again as he knelt by the bed, fidgeting with nothing as he thought of what to do. Suddenly, he stood and rushed out of the room, returning a moment later to help Mello sit up and handing him a large glass of water. Mello took it greedily, spilling on himself in his haste.

In that moment, it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He chugged it all and frowned when there wasn’t more, to which Matt quickly compensated for by filling it a second time. Then a third. He returned with a fourth and a handful of various pain medications and gave them to him, seating himself in the chair by the window. Mello held the glass tenderly, preciously, gulping half of it down with the pills before resting it on his lap.

Now that his thirst was largely satisfied, he looked about his surroundings. The bedside lamp to his left is what lit the room, while Matt was on his right. The bed itself was stationed against the center of the wall. This was the apartment Mello had given him when he first recruited Matt a few weeks ago. He was just supposed to be a backup plan, only there just in case everything went wrong... At the time he doubted it ever would…

Glancing at himself, his ‘restraints’ were bandages. A lot of them. Shifting under the blanket that now only covered his legs, he felt they were only on his upper body and… and face… Focusing his attention on the skin underneath, he ached miserably. He mumbled quietly to himself. “ _So that’s what the pills are for_.”

Another pang ran through his heart as he realized that he… he couldn’t see out of his left eye… and the only vision he had wasn’t as crisp as he was accustomed to…

He looked at Matt and he silently stared back, waiting, hunched over with his arms resting on his knees. He was wearing his glasses; a sight Mello hadn’t seen since they were children. Every time after, he always had amber-tinted goggles on his face or nestled in his messy, reddish brown hair. His eyes had dark circles gaping underneath, eyelids struggling to stay open and a shadow forming on his lower jaw. 

He was exhausted.

Mello thought carefully on what he should say. Despite all the water, his voice came out in a hoarse croak, “What happened?”

Matt blinked and took several seconds to respond, leaning back in his chair, moving his hands to his knees. “You… don’t remember?”

Mello shook his head, regretting it immediately when a splitting headache ripped and tore viciously through his skull. He attempted to move his hand to his temple but his shoulder and back screamed at him. He burst out a soft yelp, wincing harshly and gritting his teeth, eyes opening wide. Matt lurched forward but Mello put up his other hand to stop him, with significantly less complaint from his body this time.

“I know what I did, what happened at the hideout. But I can’t recall anything after that. How I got here”–he gestured to the bandages–“how these happened.” He sighed then stared intensely at Matt, “Least of all, how long it’s been since.”

Matt settled himself back in his chair, relaxing but still unnerved. He looked away for a moment, contemplating his next choice of words. Finally, he turned back and responded, “Well, where do you want me to start?”

* * *

It had been two days. A whole fifty-one hours that Mello was unconscious, before waking Matt to a coughing fit at four in the morning. Beginning at Mello’s phone call that night, he recounted everything that transpired until now. Per his request, Matt didn’t spare any details, not even how much he screamed until he finally went still for several hours. That explained his throat.

Meeting with two of Mello’s underground medical contacts, getting information on how to suitably treat him given the circumstances, and paying for proper supplies and drugs that would ordinarily require a prescription. Recalling with a cringe at how much it cost to have enough to last just six days.

Implementing their advice, and sanitizing everything that could possibly contact Mello’s skin, completely delving himself into a life of constant cleaning and worry. Apparently, that wasn’t the only coughing fit Mello has had, but before now he never opened his eyes.

Mello sat, staring at his blanketed knees, holding his now-empty glass, mulling over everything he heard, plotting his next move. Well, he had to recover enough to move his _body_ first, let alone execute a plan. He grumbled to himself. That could take a while.

Blaze it all, he didn’t have time! He couldn’t move now, almost literally, but he had to soon. He can’t afford to waste any more time than what was already spent. He couldn’t afford to sit and wait until he got a doctor’s leave, but then again… Matt was the one who took care of him. He could get back into the game sooner, and the worst he’d have to deal with is a hesitant protest from a single man. His expression lightened. A man who trusted him.

There was risk to it. If he wasn’t careful and got an infection it would put him out of the game for an undetermined amount of time again. But that was a risk he had to take, he couldn’t afford the consequences of the alternative. He would just have to be careful.

Mello hesitated as a horrifying thought crossed him... He might _not_ move again... The muscles on his left might not ever respond to him the same again. For all he knew right now, he could be bed-ridden or forced into a cane for the rest of his life. He was already blind in one eye, could he really continue in action? Would he have to forfeit his win, his… everything? All his efforts? Every struggle he’s endured, every fight he fought, every life he took… would it all amount to nothing?

He tenderly held his hand to his face. No. Please, not like this. I… I can’t live like this! It _can’t_ be for nothing! I tried too hard, you can’t put me out like this! I won’t allow it! You _can’t!_ You can’t…

I can’t…

Mello gulped and slowly turned back to Matt, refusing to look directly at him.

“What is it?” Matt asked tiredly, his tone painted in concern, like a brother trying to comfort a younger sibling.

He took a deep breath and gulped again, shifting his hand closer to his left eye, still not looking at him. “I can’t see.”

“You… _what?_ ” He leaned forward, one hand fiercely gripping the edge of his chair, the other reaching the edge of the bed, horror and dread spread across every aspect of his demeanor.

“Not entirely at least. My left eye…”

Matt moaned loudly in a sigh, slumping his shoulders in sudden relief. “Oh my g– you _scared_ me!”

“What do you–?”

“I gave you an eyepatch you son of a–! Calm _down!_ ” He stared at him exasperatedly, hand practically clawing at the sheets.

Mello moved his hand and, sure enough, felt bandages over where he expected to find his eyelid instead. “Oh.” He said sheepishly. Matt hung his head down and swore. Mello raised an eyebrow and glanced at him, “ _I_ need to calm down?”

His face snapped up, “Well _excuse_ me! I’ve only gotten like a collective eight hours of sleep in the past four days! Not to mention how much I’ve been wondering and just _hoping_ beyond everything else that you _weren’t_ blind or deaf. Oh! Or how I kept wondering when you would just straight-up stop breathing altogether!” He sighed and waved a hand in Mello’s direction, “Well, you’re obviously not deaf, but _damn_ _it_ man! Did you have to give me a heart attack like that? What, are you Kira now? Find out how he kills and everything, then decided to test it out?”

Mello glanced aside, a grin threatening to escape his lips, “Well yeah, but I think that’s beside the point.”

Matt stared at him incredulously. Eventually his eyes widened and jaw dropped. He blinked, “You’re serious.”

He blurted out a small chuckle. “That wasn’t a question.”

“That wasn’t a denial.”

Mello smiled, “It wasn’t a confirmation either.”

“No, but that smile is.” Matt slumped back in his chair again, staring at him in almost horrified disbelief. He cursed, “You’re serious.”

Mello’s expression turned serene. “I am.”

Matt hesitated, “So…”–he gulped–“…how?”

* * *

Matt was asleep, has been for a while. Thank goodness. The poor man was exhausted.

Once they were finally finished with their conversations, Matt collapsed on the couch in the living room, just barely within Mello’s sight, and immediately fell unconscious just as the sky was beginning to lighten, his glasses still on his face. For good measure, Matt left another full dose of drugs within Mello’s reach beside two glasses of water, in case he wasn’t awake in time to give him more.

Mello had to admit, his reaction to the Death Note was hilarious. Yet expected. It was actually a very similar response to his own. Honestly, if all it takes is some magical notebook – from a Shinigami of all things – it’s no wonder Kira’s gotten away with what he’s been doing for so long. No one in their right mind or wildest dreams would have ever guessed anything so bloody simple yet downright absurd for a mass-murder weapon; not even L. He even wondered if Kira himself didn’t believe it at first either.

The sun had risen considerably in the morning sky, and Mello still sat silently on the bed. Now that the painkillers had completely kicked into effect, he wasn’t afraid of moving his left side anymore. Movements were stiff, his muscles reluctant to obey, but it just largely felt sore to bruises or lack of use. If he didn’t neglect them, nor push too hard, he deduced that he’d be able to fully recover in that regard.

Though he couldn’t deny his hesitance to see what the bandages had hidden beneath them, nor the possibility that his left eye might actually be blind. Matt told him that he was horrifically scarred, but Mello couldn’t reject his curiosity either; wanting to know exactly how his body was to permanently remain, though wasn’t sure how he would react to it. How bad were they? Was he utterly mutilated, like the Phantom of the Opera or something? Or was it just some strangely colored skin? A combination of the two? Something entirely different that he wasn’t considering?

He wanted to know but he didn’t want to know either. And it was infuriating.

With a huff, he looked towards the window. The blinds were still closed, but there was enough light seeping through that he had turned off the lamp a while ago. Mello was silent. Thinking. Another infuriating dilemma he faced was that he also didn’t know when he could get himself back into action. And when he did, how he would do it. He already had several ideas roughly drafted in his head, he just needed to flesh them out and consider all the possibilities before narrowing down on which one was best.

But _none_ of them could even happen until he was able to move again.

Mello closed his eyes and groaned.

This could take a while.


	5. Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2400

He’d been half-awake for a considerable time, listening to nothing, wanting to convince his body to sleep for longer, but it ignored him. He never opened his eyes, barely shifted his weight on the cushions, never faltered his deep, relaxed breaths but alas, his body said it was time to get up.

So he ignored  _ it _ . Purely out of spite.

When he cracked his eyelids open for half a second, it was still light outside. He’d only been out for a few hours, and with how much sleep he’s been lacking, whatever he’s gotten wouldn’t be nearly enough–

**_CRASH_ **

Matt sat bolt upright and frantically scanned his surroundings. Relative to the silence, the clatter sounded like gunshot. His mind took another half-second to properly process the noise, however, correcting his initial assumption to glass instead. He heard a long string of curses growled beneath someone’s breath, all of it having come from the kitchen. He hurried to follow it and found Mello pressed against the counter swearing and clutching at his bandages, a towel wrapped around his waist, and a shattered glass on the floor.

Matt blinked. The guy’s coverings weren’t nearly tight enough. No, they weren’t even wrapped properly at all; parts of his burned flesh were exposed to the air. His eye was unmasked as well, opened wide with pain as his hand awkwardly hovered over the wounds, wanting to grasp at them, but any touch would only make it worse.

“Where are they?” Mello hissed looking at Matt; agony, rage, and desperation fighting for dominance in his eyes.

“Where are what–?”

“The bloody medications, Matt! I can’t find them!”

He took a step back, putting his arms up in surrender, “Okay, okay, calm down. They’re over here.” Matt hesitated in the entryway, staring at the glass shards then to Mello’s bare feet, “I’ll bring them to you.”

Within a moment he returned with a handful of various pills, stepping over the mess and giving them to the guy, now seated on the countertop in his absence, toes drifting several inches above the floor. His hands tightly gripped the edge in a mix of exasperated impatience and nigh-unbearable pain. Mello lurched forward in an urgent haste to grasp the pills out of his hand, but Matt held them out of his reach.

“Didn’t I leave an extra dose by the bed? That you were only allowed to have eight hours after you swallowed the first ones, regardless of whether or not the effects have worn off?”

Mello’s eyes smoldered, still uncertain about which emotion was to assert supremacy over the others. He spoke slowly, feigning a business-like calm that flooded his voice with sarcasm, “ _ Yes _ . And even  _ those _ have since worn off, so now–”

“Dude, I’m not gonna risk giving you an overdose here.”

“Believe me,  _ sir _ , it has been plenty long since I have last consumed any sort of medication.” He clenched his teeth, dropping the façade and speaking in a deep, threatening hiss, “And I. Can’t. Take. It. Any _ more _ .”

Matt narrowed his eyes, tilting his head, “How long exactly?”

“You’ve been unconscious for almost twenty hours. I’m more than three hours overdue for another dose.” He leaned forward, “Give. Them. To. Me.”

He half-expected the guy to lunge for the drugs again, but he remained seated on the countertop, though almost doubling over with how far he slanted towards him. Matt turned back to the living room. He could have sworn that there was still daylight as he was waking up but– oh. That was the lamp. Oops.

The guy pounced. Grasping the pills out of Matt’s hand while his attention was elsewhere and shoved them all into his mouth, his balance staggering. His other hand gripped the edge tighter to keep him from falling over into the broken glass strewn across the ground. Matt started at the sudden outbreak then sighed, reaching into the cupboard for another glass and filling it halfway with tap water. He turned to give it to the guy only to witness him already swallowing.

He stared at him, not knowing what to do with the cup now. He contemplated just dumping it out and putting it back until Mello’s hand shot forward, waiting. Matt lightly flinched but obliged to the silent command. Drinking everything in a single pull, the guy slammed it next to him, not quite hard enough to crack it, but blazing well  _ close _ to. Matt cringed.

Mello slowly let out a breath. His shoulders slumped forward, eyes closing and fingers shifting their grip on the cup and counter, fidgeting with them, and groaned quietly to himself. Matt furrowed his eyebrows and leaned in carefully. “You okay?” The guy mumbled in the negative. Matt glanced away and wrung his hands, “Anything I can–” He stopped himself, “Actually,” he turned his back to him, tilting forward and holding his hands out behind, “Come here, let’s wrap you up properly. The open air probably isn’t helping much at all.”

Mello looked up and paused. “I am not climbing on you.”

Matt shrugged, “It’s either that or getting glass in your feet. And having me pick it out for you, ‘cause, I mean, I don’t really think you’d be able to do much yourself until the drugs kick in.” He turned his head back and smirked, “Besides, I’ve been known to carry you before in these past few days before you woke up, so it’s not like I can’t. And hey, it’ll actually be easier now that you’re conscious.”

He frowned, “I’m not–”

Matt straightened and twisted at his hips, “Dude come on, what’s the problem? If I’ve been out for like twenty hours like you said then it’s like one or two in the morning right now, so it’s not like anybody’d see us, if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody’d see us anyway, I always keep all the blinds closed and the neighborhood is totally abandoned. Y’know, ‘cause there was a Hell-shattering  _ explosion _ like six minutes away. I’d leave too if I didn’t have stuff to do.”

“It… it’s not that...”

“Then what? You’re just downright embarrassed by being carried or something?”

Mello was quiet.

Matt rolled his eyes and turned forward again, unable to suppress the grin breaking past his lips, “Just get on. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.”

He let out a breath – a mix between a sigh and a groan – but after a moment’s hesitation, Mello curled his legs around Matt’s waist and draped his arms over his shoulders, being very tender with his burned side. He grunted with pain at his muscles’ protest to obey but the guy eventually settled himself relatively comfortably on his back, though still a little stiff. Whether it was because of the wounds or that he hated himself for giving in, Matt couldn’t tell. But he guessed it was at least a bit of both.

He ignored when Mello insisted that he put him down once they were past the glass and instead kept walking toward the bathroom. The guy grunted at him but didn’t give any more protest than that, resting his chin on Matt’s shoulder in a quiet huff. He set him down on the toilet and moved to the briefcase serving as a first-aid kit, pulling out the gauze, ointments, and two large rolls of bandages.

Matt turned back to find Mello hunched over, resting his face – well, the unburned half of it at least – in his hands, breathing deeply. “Hey, uh… you okay?” he asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer, but not knowing what else to say.

Like before, the guy mumbled a tender “no” and lightly shook his head. Matt gently started forward and stopped himself, twice, before finally hanging his head and sighing.

“Sorry, this is gonna suck.” He got to his knees and put a hand on Mello’s uninjured shoulder. The guy looked up; agony and despair finally won over anger and urgency. “Just… try not to scream okay?” He forced a lighthearted chuckle, “We wouldn’t want to wake up the non-existent neighbors.”

* * *

It was an excruciating procedure. For both of them. Though most of the time all he let out were moans, every once in a while, despite his greatest efforts to keep his composure, Mello would yell and flinch away at Matt’s touch. He could usually cut himself off, but it would also require him to bite down on something. As such, his hands were covered in teeth marks while Matt tore off the poorly applied bandages. Eventually he gave the guy a cloth to rip apart instead once he noticed he was about to start drawing blood if this continued for much longer.

Matt tried to be as gentle as was tangibly possible, but without the proper steps and supplies when Mello attempted to care for them himself, the wounds stuck to the coverings and, well,  _ ripping _ them off was probably the best way to describe it. He’d give the guy warnings when he had to tug hard and fast, but that was all he could really do to help him out. Those moments were what caused the greatest, most horrible reactions.

He didn’t feel like he had any right to complain, Mello  _ definitely _ had it worse, but that also didn’t mean Matt had it any easy. He kept his cool pretty well though, despite those few occasions that all he wanted to do was curl up into a corner and pretend all of this didn’t exist.

Thankfully, getting the coverings off then cleaning the scars was the hard part, applying the new bandages was significantly less painful. The guy would still recoil a bit sometimes, but his outbreaks were largely reduced to winces instead. It especially got better once all the painkillers started to kick in a little while later.

Yet in the end, an operation that would ordinarily take Matt about half an hour to do while Mello was unconscious, took over twice as long with him awake and unmedicated.

Matt removed his sanitized gloves and put everything else back into the kit, taking controlled and steady breaths. It was over. They moved Mello to the edge of the tub for the cleaning process and kept him there for the rest – what would be the point of moving him again anyway? He sat hunched over, tightly wrapped once more and staring at the floor, uncovered eye blinking slowly.

They were quiet. All that could be heard was their slow breathing and the light rustling of the various items being returned to their proper place. There were a few questions Matt had for the guy – was his eye actually blind, or was it really just the eyepatch? How was the rest of his body seeming to hold up? – but after a quick glance over his shoulder, he figured it would be a better idea to save them for later. He probably wasn’t in any pain anymore, or at least not anything too severe, but his body still had plenty of complaints. And now, finally getting a chance to relax to even some degree, Mello’s body was shutting down; and he looked like it.

He closed the briefcase and sighed. It was over. And from now on, he’s going to be very, absolutely, positively  _ certain _ the guy doesn’t miss another dose. He got all the painkillers to specifically prevent this kind of thing from happening again in the first place. He clenched his jaw. This time, for sure, there was no way he was letting  **_either_ ** of them suffer like that again. Ever.

Matt turned, relaxing himself and tenderly leaned down closer to Mello, hesitating for a moment before speaking just above a whisper, “You wanna head to the bed? I can take the couch again.” He smirked, “I’m probably not even going to sleep much more tonight anyway, so it’s not like it matters.”

Mello’s response was severely delayed, but eventually he tilted his head up – not enough to look at Matt directly but the gesture was there – and exhaled deeply, closing his eye then blinked a few times, each one almost excruciatingly slow. He mumbled something almost completely incoherently. It didn’t even sound like English at all. Which, Matt quickly realized, meant that it probably wasn’t.

Taking a few seconds to process the vague hints he had for syllables, Matt pieced together and guessed what was possibly German, “Yes please, that sounds nice.” He shrugged to himself. German wasn’t his best subject, so he might’ve mixed up a word or two, but it made the most sense out of the other languages he could choose from.

Mello began an attempt to stand, the towel still draped loosely over his hips, and Matt grabbed his upper arm, keeping him steady. He offered his other hand to the guy as another support and, gradually, he took it. They walked slowly, going at whatever pace Mello set. Matt wanted to drape his arm over the guy’s shoulders but didn’t want to risk disturbing the burns. He might be medicated now, but that doesn’t mean they should be careless.

He silently offered and gestured to carry him again, but Mello declined. The apartment wasn’t very large, but it still consumed a few solid minutes to return to the bedroom. The guy sat at the edge of the bed and carefully laid himself on his right side, while Matt pulled the blanket and top sheet off and tossed them to a corner. He reached into the closet and pulled out another, clean, set and gently spread them overtop of Mello. He was already asleep before Matt was finished.

He stood back, gazing softly at the exhausted man’s form before him. He lost everything. Just one failed swoop and it was all gone. His resources and contacts connected to the Mafia, the Mafia itself, the hideout, the killer notebook, even his immunity to it with his real name  _ somehow _ being revealed…

Matt scratched his head. He wondered how the officer actually managed to do it, but didn’t want to bother himself with trying to figure it out either. Practically everything Mello told him about this stupid notebook hardly made any sense, making an attempt to do otherwise would just give him a headache.

He turned and left the room, leaving the door open.

Right now warranted far better uses of his time.


	6. Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3399

“Seriously dude, what were you thinking?”

“OW!”

“Oh, cry me a river.”

Matt was repairing Mello’s mistreatment of himself. Again. It wasn’t nearly as bad as last time, and he was already under all the appropriate medications, but Matt wasn’t exactly being gentle. Mello gripped the edge of the tub and grimaced, glaring up at Matt. The goggles were back, replacing the glasses. Indoors though, they were pulled up and nestled in his hair. His expression resembled a mix of burning apathy and frustrated annoyance..

“Have you learned nothing from last time?” Matt continued, holding Mello’s arm up and started wrapping him again.

Mello yanked his arm out of his grip and huffed, “Well last time, I’ll admit, I didn’t have all the intellectual tools to treat them properly, but after that whole fiasco, I saw you do it right and realized as long as it _is_ done right, it’s not hard- OW! Would you _stop_ that?!”

He attempted to stand as a testament to his protest, but Matt pushed him back down to the toilet and held a tight grip on his shoulder.

“This would be a lot easier if you would just cooperate.” He spoke in a level, emotionless tone, “It’s only hurting because you’re fighting.” Mello rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, but after a moment he surrendered nonetheless, turning his body so the burns were better facing Matt.

He continued with his wrappings and Mello sat still, both of them fuming but nevertheless maintaining control. Matt worked his way up his torso, covering the burns. Beginning just above his hips and gradually making his way closer to his neck and head, he wrapped him tightly and effectively with practiced precision, pausing occasionally to add more ointment-soaked gauze to the burns directly, then quickly covering them with the bandages to keep them in place.

They were quiet, waiting until the process was done. Mello’s arm was lifted up, gripping a towel rack just above his head to keep it out of the way. The other hand held the uninjured side of his face, his elbow resting on the lid of the toilet tank. Mello grit his teeth as Matt plastered more gauze to his side. Once he got used to them being there it wasn’t too bad, but it always stung for the first few seconds after application and the bandages overall felt strange and restricting over his skin. Especially across his throat and chest. It made swallowing or breathing feel like a chore.

“How much longer do I have to put up with this?” Mello grumbled.

“Oh calm down, I’m almost done.”

“Not just right now, Matt.” He glanced down at his work and frowned, “And I know for a _fact_ that you’re not even halfway.”

“So what, are you gonna do it yourself then? Oh wait.” Matt snapped back, finishing with a dark, half-hearted chuckle.

Mello fought the urge to sigh and roll his eyes again. Instead he clenched his teeth, “How much longer do _we_ have to keep wrapping these up? It’s already been almost five days.”

Matt paused, blinked, looked Mello back in the eyes and stared at him. He slowly stood up straight, an incredulous expression painting his features, “I’d say five days is really awesome progress for the fact that you. _Blew_. _Up_ … less than a week ago. And uh, I don’t know about you but these are looking like third degree to me. If I were you, I wouldn’t really be complaining right about now.”

Mello waved his hand like he was batting away in invisible fly, “Regardless,”

“ _Regardless_ , I think you’ll need a lot more than just five days to recover from this. Just give it some more time man.” He leaned down again and resumed his work, “And I mean seriously, it’s kind of a miracle you’re even alive right now.” He hesitated, “Er, I mean, if you still believe in that kind of stuff, I guess.”

Mello shrugged but remained silent.

“Even still,” Matt started again after a while, the wrappings now just under his arms, “I’m not a doctor, not even close. Don’t even deserve to be called a nurse. So, if you’re looking for something more concrete, I’m not the guy to ask.”

“Perhaps,” Mello mumbled quietly, thinking.

Five days has already been long enough. Sure, there were definitely benefits for staying dead in the game for an extended time. No one knows that he’s alive, and that can be used to his advantage. Lay foundations and groundwork for his next set of moves, get his footing secure before he steps out again. Plan ahead with reduced risk of being caught.

That is, if you looked at it on paper.

But the reality of it was this: Under the same principle as “guilty until proven innocent”, he was “alive until proven dead”. Without finding his body in the ruins, they’re going to suspect he’s out there. Above all he just has to assume that they do. They won’t know where, but they will be looking for him. And he has all the resources under the name of L and the unholy powers of Kira conspiring against him.

And Yagami saw his face.

Five days has already been long enough. He’s been in one spot, immoving, plotting, thinking. Waiting. But he was tired of waiting, sick of it already. It was infuriating. He hated depending on other people’s moves before he could come up with or make his own. Watching for an opportunity to arise and come to you. It just wasn’t his style, not even as a child. He’s always sought out or created them himself.  
When fate would grant him nothing, he would take it from them instead. Out of cold, dead hands if he had to.

Right now, fate granted him two options: Wait and recover fully, or get back in the game before he fell too far behind. No matter what he chose there was risk to everything he did. Infection or losing, imprisonment or giving up.

Kira’s head with ultimate victory, or his own death, a failure forever.

No. Don’t question it. What other choice does he have anyway? With the Death Note back in their hands, his identity having been spoken aloud for the first time in over twelve years... and Yagami. Though he didn’t in the moment, he was prepared to write his name if he had to. Above all he just has to assume that they have.

Under the assumption that his fate has already been decided, it meant that he had no more than eighteen days left. He couldn’t wait any longer. If that’s all he’s been granted.

Five days has already been long enough.

* * *

Mello sat leaned forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, similarly to how Matt usually sits. The borrowed denim jeans loose over his legs, his feet bare, red-plaid, button-down shirt open. Until today he opted for no shirt at all, the bandages would usually feel too hot if covered for too long, but he needed to know how well he’d be able to handle full clothing again. It was a small step, too small of a step for the leap he needed to immediately make, but it was better than nothing.

His fingers lightly stroked the beads of his rosary in thought, held loosely in his hands, gazing softly at the ornamented cross dangling from the string, his fingernails occasionally catching on a small indent to a bead’s surface. He absently wondered how it survived the inferno with him, but he had no intention to be bothered. It was returned to him that morning when Matt remembered that he still had it, rescued with its owner, but deemed less important than Mello’s life and therefore shoved in the nearest drawer.

Truthfully, he was grateful. Despite everything he lost, and as insignificant of a token as it may seem, he still had something. It wasn’t untouched however. It escaped with splotches of char and scratches adorning the surface, forever tainting its former perfection.  
Scarred. Like he was.

If he was going to do something, it had to be no later than tomorrow, later today if he could get away with it. And it was precisely getting away with it that was the trick. Matt fixed him up again earlier that morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. Earlier than that was when habit woke him in the dead hours of morning. So to quell his boredom, he decided to take an - admittedly very painful - shower. After soaking the bandages, it seemed the perfect opportunity to try and care for the burns himself, properly this time, to see how well he could do it. But the attempt ultimately failed, evidence showing a few hours later with the undying irritation burning through his skin.

And if that wasn’t any indicator that the burns still needed to be heavily cared for, then he didn’t know what was. And, frustratingly enough, he still couldn’t do it himself either. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe that he could take Matt with him, but when was the problem. The thought crossed him to sneak away while Matt was preoccupied or asleep, but then that would reduce the chances that Matt would follow. And he needed Matt.

Mello sighed.

“You okay?” Matt asked from behind and Mello turned his head. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen holding a silver PopTart package, both pastries had an identical bite taken out of them. He walked around the couch and, after a beat, offered the PopTarts out to Mello.

He lifted his hand in dismissal and spoke softly, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“What’s up?” Matt asked, sitting on the opposite side of the couch, a discernible pop coming from one or more of his joints in unison as he assumed his regular posture.

Mello was quiet for a moment, looking back down to his rosary, carefully choosing his words, “I can’t stay here.” He said finally.

“Why not?” Matt asked, his casual demeanor shuffling under the concern and wariness suddenly eminent in his features.

“I can’t... I have to get back out there. I-”

“Who said you have to?” He interrupted, taking another bite out of both tarts, straightening his back and shifting his feet to firmly plant on the floor, his head tilting in suspicion.

With both eyes uncovered Mello looked at him, calm and pleading, “If I don’t get out soon enough,” He continued slowly, “Everything will get too far ahead of me. I won’t be able to get back in. If I stay here for longer than I have to then-”

“Yeah,” He interrupted again, “Longer than you _have_ to. And if you ask me, you don’t _have_ to leave yet.” Mello opened his mouth to speak but Matt cut him off before he could begin, “Okay I’ll say this much at least, emphasis on _yet_. I won’t keep you here forever - I mean, duh - but I won’t let you leave either. Not yet.” He set the PopTarts on the arm of the couch, “Not… not now.”

Mello paused again, his expression cold and calculating. “Why not?” He retorted.

“Dude, c’mon. We literally had this discussion in the bathroom like half an hour ago after _you_ screwed up the wrappings again.” He folded his arms and twisted to face him more. “Need I say more?”

Mello embraced the silence for a moment, “You don’t get it do you?”, his eyes narrowing. Matt hesitated and Mello pounced at the chance, “Listen Matt, hundreds of people are dying every day. Plenty of criminals, yes, but countless of falsely accused innocents along the way. Kira doesn’t bother to check; trust me, I’ve kept track of a few. I know for a fact he’s killed only suspects before in the past, and thousands of people over the internet are just sending him names of people they hate.

“And if you think about it that way, Kira isn’t the only killer here. He’s just the one who’s actually committing the executions for the people who don’t have the balls to do it themselves. Who would rather hide behind the anonymity of the internet and blame it on him. If Kira is removed from the equation altogether, there are going to be a lot more people’s lives being saved than he wants us to believe.”

Matt went quiet and his eyes quickly darted to the floor. He was thinking. Thinking of something to say, but Mello knew he got him. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

It took several seconds, but eventually he looked up again, expression resolved and scrutinized, “But that’s not what you care about, though, is it?”

The smile vanished.

“You don’t care about the victims,” He continued, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at Mello’s subtle change in expression, “You only care about the prize. You couldn’t care less about what he does, you just want to avenge L-” he forced a short bark of a laugh, an insincere smile cracking his lips, “-and to do it before Near does.” He looked away, slouching down again and mumbling a curse as his face immediately returned to a frown, “Don’t act like I haven’t figured out the kind of person _you_ became over the years. Mob Boss kinda says a lot.”

“Matt-” He said, a warning to his patience wearing thin.

“Yeah, no.” He glanced back up at Mello, “‘Save the victims’ my ass. I know what you’re really after, and I won’t let you throw your life away for a stupid competition you _still_ won’t let go of.”

Mello snapped, “You’ve severely underestimated the situation. This isn’t a ‘ _stupid competition_ ’, there is so much more at stake here that you’re not seeing.” He growled and looked away, “Believe what you want about what I’m after, Kira needs to be taken down once and for all.”

“Says who?” Matt shot back, raising his voice, “L’s tried to take him down and failed five years ago. _L!_ What makes you think _you_ can? Who _says_ that you can, or have to? He’s already been at this game of his for almost six years now-!”

“That’s exactly my point Matt,” Mello interrupted, “Six years is far too long for a globally renowned mass murderer to still be on the loose. People, countries and governments, are giving up and subjecting themselves to him, a human who found the power of a god of death and thought he was one.” Mello gestured to Matt with a flick of his wrist, “He’s been at his game for _six years now_ , and there are too many people falling right into his delusions of grandeur. _Someone_ has to stand up to him, and if that happens to be me, then so be it.”

“Would you stop acting like you’re the only one in all of this! Just because you had the power too doesn’t make you a god either!”

“I never said I was.” Mello growled, reigning his tone back under control, attempting to regain the situation. “And if L couldn’t take him down, then it means that I’m one of the only ones who will stand a chance. I need to get back out there, I need to fight. And if I _have_ to do it alone,” He looked Matt directly in the eyes, “Then I will.” He held his gaze, both of them glaring at the other.

Finally he deemed the silence long enough and stood, “Motives irrelevant, I’ll do what has to be done.”

He turned to walk away and Matt jumped at him in an unexpected panic, grasping tightly at his wrist, “You can’t just leave! Not like this, not just at the drop of a hat!” Mello twisted and jerked free from his grip and turned to leave again, silent. “Hey!” Matt shouted and ran around the couch to intercept his path, “I said you can’t leave, I won’t let you!”

“Get out of my way.” Mello huffed quietly, bumping him away with his uninjured shoulder.

“You can’t! Where will you even go? How do you think you’ll take care of the burns, because we _both_ know you can’t do it alone!” Mello ignored him, brushing off and twisting away from each attempt to stop him.  
_Just a little longer._

Matt kept shouting, spouting out everything he could think of that would deter Mello from leaving, but it proved fruitless. Mello was determined.

“You can’t do this to me!” Matt cried, finally using the last trick he could conjure and scratched at the bandages just before he reached the bedroom door. Mello sucked in a sharp gasp, eyes snapping wide as a harsh surge of agony shot through him like lightning. He whipped around and grappled Matt’s wrist, who caught his arm and gripped back with both hands. His eyes were wide with horror.

“You can’t do this to me!” He repeated, not as loud as before but still shouting, never breaking eye-contact, “I won’t let you! Not again!” Mello recoiled half a step, but altogether stayed quiet. Matt swallowed then spoke at a reasonable tone, “Not again. I _won’t_ let you abandon me again, no warning, no goodbye, no idea where you’re going... I-I can’t take it a second time, not again...”

He stared at him for another few seconds after trailing off into silence, regaining his breath from the adrenaline rush. He stood up straighter and loosened his grip at Mello’s lack of protest.

Finally, they stood quiet and both looked away to the floor. Mello gripped the rosary still held in his hand, sifting carefully through every possible choice of words available to him, narrowing down and filing away with the steadiness of a surgeon, searching for the best way to convey his next point.

He spoke quietly, “I could be one of them…”

Matt’s head twitched and looked up, a brief pause followed before the silence was disturbed again, “What?”

“They have my name, and they’ve seen my face. If I wait too long, I’ll be written off as another victim.” Mello took a deep breath and looked at him, “For all I know, I only have a few days left and Matt… I can’t...” He glanced away again and gulped, purposefully lowering his tone to simulate fear, “I can’t just sit and wait for it to happen. If my time is limited… I want to make the most of it.”

His face was out of view, but Matt’s body spoke novels. There was still some resistance, but he’d cracked away at most of his defenses. All he had to do was push just a little bit farther.

“I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.” His voice still low, Mello allowed sincerity to seep through, careful and controlled. “I fought every day, every day since I’ve left the House; scraping and crawling, struggling and forcing my way to the top. It can’t be for nothing Matt. It _can’t_ . Everything I’ve done, every fight, every trip and fall, every shot, every stab to the back, _everything_.”

Mello shook his head and cleared his throat, “It’s more than just a competition. It’s my entire life’s work. All of it has amounted to this, to Kira. I can’t let it be for nothing. Because if all of that was nothing, then… then what am I..?”

They were quiet. He didn’t have to look at him to know he was thinking again, trying to conjure up something to say to that. Mello patiently waited for a response while Matt eventually released Mello’s arm entirely. The response didn’t come. Full minutes passed and they both stood there in complete silence. He waited longer, contemplating whether or not he should disturb the stillness himself.

“You… you don’t have to stay alone…” Matt said quietly and Mello feigned a shy glance at him. “You… I-I’m here. You don’t have to go.”

“I do.” Mello pressed lightly.

“Not alone.” Matt said quickly, and finally looked up. He took a breath to speak again, but it wavered and dissipated, unsaid. Mello heard it anyway.

Mello smiled, calm and gentle. Matt was pleading, begging at Mello’s feet, desperate. Willing and able to answer to any beckon or call. He had him.

All he had to do was say the word.

“Come with me.”


	7. Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: This chapter is HEAVILY inspired by another fic called [Crush by etorphine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006506/chapters/49957562)  
> (specifically Chapter 19) which is a fic I HIGHLY recommend. Like, I cannot sing its praises enough, and if I try, I'll be writing a college-grade essay. Warning though, it IS explicit, so read at your own risk, however, the author tags their stuff very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2078

Mello stood in Halle Bullock’s apartment, watching the sunlight fade away, but the grand city hardly grew any darker. He was in New York again. Alone. Though, he was simply the first to arrive.

It wasn’t going to be a short trip, and with Mello’s optimal plan of action - that he had plenty of time to consider - they were going to need Matt’s equipment, and it was taking longer than expected to pack and make arrangements to transport. However, their partnership would be harder to track if they traveled separately, so Mello didn’t voice any complaints. But although Matt would be close behind, Mello had no time to lose.

Besides, he already had a place to stay while he waited.

He had scanned her entire apartment, searching for hidden cameras or audio bugs, and ultimately finding none. He tapped his foot on the hardwood floor of the living room, arms folded, thinking over every place he checked, and making sure there wasn’t anything he missed. Glancing at the clock ticking quietly behind him, she, “Lidner”, wouldn’t return for another two hours at least. That meant he had plenty of extra time to remove some of the bandages and become accustomed to the air again.

Silently, he let his arms drop to his sides and made his way to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him. Mello shrugged off the coat, which was shortly followed by the button-down shirt he’d taken with him, leaving both to be discarded on the ground. He extracted newly purchased articles of his regular attire from the backpack he’d taken on the flight and set everything he needed beside him on the bathmat.

He quickly exchanged the denim jeans for leather and the tennis shoes for lace-up boots, and enjoyed the familiar tightness and texture they brought with them, feeling himself slowly be pieced back together. He leaned down and fished out a pair of scissors and a thin, disposable washcloth from the backpack then set them beside the sink bowl, standing again, returning to his full height. Without wasting another moment, he reached for the strips of bandages wrapped around his face and grasped at an edge.

Then hesitated.

He locked his jaw and took a deep breath. He’d timed the previous dose to last plenty long after this greeting to his new host, but he supposed that if all else failed, he’d just have to trust in his ability to mask any pain behind a facade. Releasing the breath he held, he closed his eyes and patiently waited until the air was all expelled through his nostrils. Then his eyes snapped forward and stared intensely at his reflection, he grit his teeth, gripped the sink with his free hand, then tugged.

He was slow, careful, and he quickly found that it was altogether painless, but he didn’t allow any recklessness to seep its way to his fingers, just in case that changed. It took less than two minutes before his entire face was released from the outer bandages - the gauze still moistly plastered to his skin - and he grabbed the scissors, cut the excess, then gently tucked the end into the rest still wrapped around his lower neck.

Using the mirror as his guide and ensuring his breathing was careful and controlled, he peeled each patch of gauze away and dropped them into the sink, one by one until they were all removed. He took the washcloth, used the sink to wet a corner, then gently dabbed at the burned scar tissue, cleaning off any residual ointment, pus or other bodily fluids. Finally finishing with a dry corner and soaked up the extra water, he gathered the waste and dropped them into the trash can, quickly changing the plastic liner and tying off the end of the old one, kicking it into the hallway to be dealt with later.

He collected his previous outfit and stuffed it and the scissors back into the backpack, picking up his new vest as he stood again, adorning it quickly and zipping it to the top. He twisted at his hips, and stretched his arm across his chest, testing his body’s ability to cope with the tight leather over the bandages and repeated on the other side. Using a few other stretches to complete his evaluation, it was... uncomfortable, there was no denying that. But not unbearable, and he otherwise had no further complaints.

Besides, he’d be condemned if he wasn’t immediately recognized at his own resurrection.

He leaned down to the backpack again and unzipped one of the outer pockets, retrieving his leather gloves and adorning them in quick, practiced movements. Then from the depths of the small pocket, he unzipped another, hidden, one and tenderly pulled out his rosary, absently running his fingers over the now-tainted surface of the cross. He stood, lifting the string of beads over his head and around his neck.

Mello stared back at his reflection, and grinned. He was complete.

Almost.

Some of the bandages could still be seen by his hips where the vest didn’t cover. He grunted. That simply wouldn’t do, but he opted to wait until later to put the coat on. It also wouldn’t do if he was sweating by the time his host arrived.

Speaking of…

He slung the backpack over his shoulder, stepped out of the bathroom and checked the clock again. Good, he still had plenty of time. He took the gauze-filled trash bag into the kitchen and shoved it in the bin beneath the sink, and immediately returned to the living room, tossing the backpack onto the armchair as he passed it, but not without grabbing another disposable washcloth. He retraced his steps, beginning from when he first picked the lock and entered the apartment, wiping off everything he knew he touched with his bare hands.

Repeating each movement he’d conducted when searching for cameras - in corners, behind, inside or beneath furniture, around books, disassembling devices and checking the interior then promptly putting them back together and restoring them to their exact position - he cleaned everything, ridding the apartment of any and all of his fingerprints.

He couldn’t help but grin again as he thought of a man he knew that had once done the exact same thing. He dwelled on that as he worked, when an interesting thought crossed his mind. In the same way that B had mimicked L, Mello was mimicking B right now, wasn’t he? And if that were the case, then - heh - it wasn’t only L who had created a legacy for himself, was it? Mello shook his head as his chest rumbled in a light-hearted chuckle.  _ Ha. It’s all come full-circle, then. _

However - checking the clock again - he didn’t have quite enough time to be as thorough as B was and clean  _ all _ the fingerprints in the apartment without risk of being caught in the act, and that’s not how he had planned for things to go. Whatever. As much fun as it would be to commit to the entire task, basic childish amusement is  _ all _ it would be. He doubted she’d even check for fingerprints anyway.

Mello finished his work with the bathroom, wiping away the last traces of his presence from the sink, retrieved his discarded coat from off the bathroom floor as he left, then promptly threw the cloth away with the gauze in the kitchen. With all preparations complete, he casually wandered back to the living room to stare at the clock one last time.

He shrugged on the coat, masking the last of the bandages he wore and grabbed a chocolate bar from the backpack, tearing off the top of the wrapping to make easy access for later, and put it in his coat pocket. He dug through the large pocket of the backpack and retrieved the disassembled components of the weapon he smuggled over onto the plane: his beloved, trusted Beretta, found on his person after the fire.

Carefully, he put each piece together, then finally completing it with the cross charm dangling from the handle. He held it, reveling in the comfort and confidence he felt with its familiar weight.

His mouth twitched in anticipation.

Almost.

* * *

Halle “Lidner” walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her, locking it and hanging her coat on the rack in one smoothe motion, not bothering to turn on any lights as she stepped further into her home shrouded in late-night darkness. She looked exhausted, allowing herself to drop any and all business-like fronts required to do her job.

Mello watched from the armchair in complete silence, observing her every move down the hallway and immediately into the bathroom, that being the only light she activated, illuminating the area in a soft, dull orange. He heard shuffling after she closed the door, the shower curtain opened and closed, and then the faucet turned on. His eyes shone, and his lips curved up in glee. She didn’t suspect anything was amiss.

After all, why would she? He was dead.

Using the shower to shroud his sounds, carefully and slowly, he moved past the bathroom toward her bedroom, opened the door and turned on the lamp beside her TV. Then, hood drawn, back to the wall, gun in hand, chocolate in the other, he waited. Leaving the door to his trap wide open.

The woman really took her time, unwinding after a long work day. Mello still stood patiently and silently.  _ Eventually _ , he thought with a hunter’s resolve,  _ she will enter eventually _ .

She’ll have to, after all. He won’t give her a choice. And however long it will take, he will be waiting for her.

The neighbors were still awake, and they had turned on a TV show. With the shower running still, it was barely even audible and he couldn’t make out anything that was happening or being said, nor did he bother to. It was just background noise. If anything, maybe it’d help mask any other sounds he made, in case the woman’s hearing was acute enough to detect his breathing once she stepped out of the shower.

Lo and behold, the water ran to a stop, and through the wall he heard the curtain drawn again. There was quiet, with maybe the patter of a bare foot on the bathroom tile, or the shuffle of a towel across soaked skin. Then finally, the door opened with a gentle click and a wet footprint, the faint sound of tiny drops of water falling to the floor hiding behind it.

She had apparently taken a very hot shower as well. He didn’t even have to turn the corner to feel the cloud of steam escaping the bathroom to embrace the rest of the apartment with its thick humidity.

Within less than five seconds, she hummed to herself in confusion, such a soft sound it almost wasn’t audible over the neighbors muffled television. His heart accelerated with a surge of adrenaline and he reaffirmed his grip on the Beretta.

Almost.

With half a moment’s hesitation, she expelled a breath out her nostrils and stepped forward to the light pouring through the open door. Another wet little  _ tap _ and she appeared then past the corner. Halle Bullock, towel wrapped around her breast and another loosely in her hair, eyes focused solely forward, blinded to the man immediately to her left.

He whipped his gun to the side aimed directly at her, a threatening  _ click _ ringing through the bedroom, bouncing off the walls like thunder. She gasped, whirling around to face him half-naked, clutching at the towel wrapped just under her arms to keep it from falling, and stared at him, unmoving, a calm calculating mask quickly covering her startle. He stared back at her, sidelong, resisting the ever-insistent urge to grin again by locking his jaw.

Halle studied him, focus shifting from the barrel, to him, then specifically to his face, revealing a moment later her notice of his scar with the subtle shift in her expression. Realization dawned in her eyes as she began to recognize him, despite this being their first greeting. Her brows furrowed in wary concern.

“So you’re alive.” She said simply, forcing her voice into a monotonous acknowledgment of fact.

He lifted the chocolate to his mouth and took a bite with a loud  _ snap _ , cracking his jaw with it to simulate another clap of thunder, this time coming from him directly.

_ That’s right. _

_ Mello is back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for making it to the end of my little fic here! Tbh, might actually be the first one I've ever finished, lol. But hey, now that it's over, and if you liked it, I'll once again recommend [Crush by etorphine.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006506/chapters/49957562)  
> Seriously, SOO good, they gave me a LOT of inspiration, not just for this fic, but for Death Note headcanons in general. Check them out!


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